


Border Crossing

by kissing2cousins



Series: Borders [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Arugments, Breaking Borders, Decisions, Distractions, Emotions, Far Too Much To Drink, Fighting, Gay Smut, Grumpy John, M/M, Manipulations, Moment in time, Second Time, Sequel, Smut, Wall Shoving, bed, getting soaked
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 22:33:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12375525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissing2cousins/pseuds/kissing2cousins
Summary: Last night he, John Hamish Watson, had slept with one ,Sherlock Bloody Holmes, and he had no idea what to do about that fact.





	Border Crossing

**Author's Note:**

> The long awaited for sequel to Breaking Borders. Ha, I bet you all thought this was never coming. I really wanted to make this a one-year anniversary gift to the first story, but I couldn't wait. Hope you all enjoy it!

John Watson sat at the bar, hunched over his drink while he tried to ignore the rather boisterous crowd that had begun wandering in little over an hour ago. Moodily he shifted his glass, tilting it first one way, then the other, to watch the rich amber pour over the ice. It wasn’t his usual type drink, but he figured that after what had happened last night he deserved something stronger than normal. Lifting the glass, he downed the rest of the contents, the burning liquid warming him as it went. He carefully waved the bartender down, making sure he didn’t accidentally knock anything over as he did so. “One more.”

Handing over most of the remaining bills in his wallet, John barely noticed the man leave before returning with his change. The bartender quickly stacked the few coins beside the momentarily empty glass before he unscrewed the heavy bottle in his hand. After giving him an appraising look, the man filled the glass with more of that amber liquid. Capping the bottle, the bartender shifted forward, raising his voice to be heard over the crowd. “All right Doc, this is your last top-up, I’m cutting you off.”

Absently, John bobbed his head at the words even though the man had already turned away. Scooping up the change, he leaned across the counter with exaggerated care to dump it into the tip jar to his right. Looking up, John stared at his fuzzy reflection in the long mirror which hung behind the bar. Past the lines of various sized bottles, his image was weaving slightly and out of focus. Squinting, he stared harder, trying to convince both of his reflections to meld into one. When they did no such thing, John scowled at the wavering blurs and decided that maybe he’d had more than enough to drink tonight.

Levering himself up, John gripped the edge of the bar while he waited for the tilting floor to right itself. With one last longing glance at the still full glass, he turned and began to shuffle his way through the throng of happy, drunk patrons. The rambunctious laughter and cheers as he stumbled from one cluster to the next soured John’s mood further. What was so bloody fantastic that they had to come out here and ruin his little pity party, he thought grumpily. By the time he apologized his way to the front entrance he wanted to shoot something; or someone.

In his haste to leave the celebrating crowd, John burst through the outer doors. Stumbling to the edge of the sidewalk, he narrowly avoided the small throng of smokers that loitered under umbrellas just outside the entrance. John stood at the edge of the group for a long moment, blinking down at the ground, trying to make the world stop it’s swaying before noticing that it had begun raining some time ago.

The dark sidewalk glistened, little starbursts exploded where each drop fell in quick succession, the water catching the lights of nearby lamps and signs. Distracted, John wanted to hunker down and get a closer look at the miniaturized explosions but quickly decided that if he sat down now he would not be getting up for a long while. Like the rain falling from the dark sky he suddenly became aware of the fact that he was now being drenched. Grumbling under his breath John belatedly closed the coat over his wet jumper and turned, attempting to march down the street, towards home.

Home. Home equalled Sherlock, and Sherlock equalled a confusing mess of emotions and the very reason for his present drunken state. Last night he, John Hamish Watson, had slept with one Sherlock Bloody Holmes. “Emotions do not know gender.’ Those simple words had bounced around his skull all night and it seemed that they wouldn’t be leaving him alone anytime soon.

“Last night had been,” He paused in the middle of the sidewalk, heedless of the few people around him. “Amazing, wonderful, mind-blowing, brilliant?” John muttered the words to his wet shoes as people wandered around him. While it had been all those things that wasn’t the word he was looking for. He stumbled to a closed shop window, hand reaching out to catch himself against the glass as his feet tripped over themselves in the last steps. He leaned in to stare at his wavering reflection, head slowly inching closer until he couldn’t see himself any longer.

Sherlock had bloody well seduced him, that’s all there was to it. The man had to have planned the entire thing from the moment he’d come back into John’s room to give him that massage. After all, the lube hadn’t been John’s and Sherlock hadn’t gone anywhere between the massage and what had happened afterward. How long had his friend debated the pros and cons of sleeping with John?

Well, not really sleeping. The man had left right afterward, without even giving John a chance to say anything. That wasn’t true either, John just hadn’t known what to say. ‘Emotions do not know gender.’ The last words that Sherlock had spoken to him flitted once more through his mind. Did that mean that the younger man cared? He had to, otherwise... The thought trailed off as he pulled away from the cool window enough to focus on his haggard reflection, knowing that he was thinking in circles but unable to stop himself.

Sherlock had been very sure of how the evening would progress; otherwise, he wouldn’t have initiated anything. Maybe John was just reading too far into things. Maybe Sherlock had only wanted a one-night stand. His eyes though, they had been eerily bright, so intense with emotions that John hadn’t been able to read. He closed his eyes with a groan as he remembered the feel of Sherlock’s skin under his hands. It hadn’t been a one-night stand. Not with how he’d forced John to acknowledge that it had been Sherlock naked in bed with him and not just some nameless, faceless stranger.

Maybe they had always been heading towards this? After all Jessica, no Janice, maybe it had been Jesse’s statement of John being a good boyfriend and Sherlock being a very lucky man had struck a chord in him. He hadn’t dated anyone since; a hint from his subconscious perhaps? At the very least he had become more aware of his flatmate from that point on, but would never have done anything about it. Hell, he’d tried to stop what had happened between them. Well, sort of.

Sherlock was such an enigma. The man had never seemed interested in a physical relationship with anyone, not even The Woman, but especially not John. Their first evening eating out together there had been that initial confusion over John’s inquiries into the man’s personal life, leading Sherlock to very adamantly claim to be married to his work and he really was. There was no room in the genius’s life for anything that did not involve mysterious murders.

Then why in the bloody hell had the man seduced him? And how did he even know how to seduce someone anyway? From what Mycroft had hinted the detective hadn’t had any sexual experiences, that he had been in fact a virgin. He certainly hadn’t acted like one, maybe Mycroft didn’t know as much as he thought.

That thought brought a small smile to his face. Oh, how he would love to see the pompous man’s face when he found that out. The smile slipped after a moment. On second thought, he had no wish to be anywhere near the man when he found out that his baby brother was shagging his flatmate. Mycroft was so protective in the oddest ways, he would likely organize to have John kidnapped to prevent him from inadvertently breaking Sherlock’s heart.

He was back to Sherlock again. Why had the detective done what he did? He had to care. Right? Otherwise, he wouldn’t have instigated anything. John didn’t think that he would willingly jeopardize their friendship for no reason. No. While on several occasions he had strained their friendship, he had never stepped over that last line. So, for some reason, Sherlock in his infinite wisdom had decided that their shagging wouldn’t destroy their friendship.

John pushed away from the store window with a huff of frustration and began to shuffle his way back home again. He needed to figure out what he was going to do about this and soon. He doubted that he would ever fully understand why his friend did anything, this included, and especially not after the amount of alcohol he had consumed tonight. The man was too smart for his own good, thinking so many moves ahead of everyone else that the game was already done before he had even set the first piece down.

With a sigh, he stopped and tilted his head back, eyes closing as he allowed the downpour from the rain-drenched night continue to cascade over him. The cool water had long ago plastered his short hair to his skull and he was only now becoming aware of exactly how uncomfortably soaked he had become. There was an upside to this though, the rain was helping to clear his head faster and the long walk the flat would help even more. He began moving again, taking care to not walk into anyone this time.

John would not be having this dilemma if Sherlock had been female. They were best friends and great flatmates. Each could deal with the idiosyncrasies of the other without killing each other. Sherlock got him and he thought that most of the time he understood Sherlock. What more could he ask for in someone he dated?

Now he was contemplating dating the man. John shook his head as he crossed the street amidst a throng of revellers. Ok, so he liked Sherlock, but could he imagine sleeping with him? Again? He thought back to last night, the feel of their bodies moving together, limbs tangled and breath rapid. A shiver crept along his body at the remembered passion between them. Yes, he could. Was he willing to take that step? That was the real question, the one that he had avoided all night.

As John walked through the drenched streets of London he found himself chuckling. For all intents and purposes, they had dated since the day he had moved in. The only difference now was that things had turned physical and that had been bloody amazing. So yes, he was willing to take that step. Now, all he had to do was convince Sherlock that he didn’t regret what had happened and wanted to see where things went.

John finally smiled as he came to the conclusion that he had danced around all night. With a bit more spring in his step, he continued his march home. He, John Watson was fully intending on seducing one Sherlock Holmes.

It took nearly two hours, but eventually, he had made his way back to 221B. Due to the rain that had finally tapered off not long ago, his fingers had become stiff and numb. He fumbled with his keys for a long moment before finally managing to open the front door. He stumbled in and closed the door against the weather before turning and beginning his soggy trek up the stairs. He tried to creep up the steps, not wanting to wake Mrs. Hudson. She could be terrifying sometimes.

He stumbled as he approached his flat, foot catching on the slightly curled rug that spanned the length of the hallway and thumped into his door with a soft oath. Frowning to himself he leaned against it and pulled out his keys once more. He slid the key in and turned the lock. After hearing the distinctive click he withdrew the key and tucked them back into his coat.

Straightening, he brushed his clothes down and after only a moment’s hesitation opened the door. The room was dark, the lights from outside the only illumination. Taking a deep breath, he stepped through the threshold and closed the door softly behind him. John reached out and flipped the light on, squinting into the sudden brightness.

The soft melodic strains of a violin he hadn’t been aware that he’d been hearing came to a sudden stop. John looked first to the man’s chair before realizing that Sherlock had been standing at the window, likely looking down on the street and witnessing John stumble to the front door. Heart in his throat he took a step into the room, almost falling as he tripped over the other man’s shoes.

He watched, mesmerized, as Sherlock slowly turned on a heel. The rich purple of his shirt pulled taut across his shoulders as he made a point of carefully putting the expensive instrument on its soft cushioning before turning to face John full on. He stood there, spine straight and face utterly blank, watching John watch him.

John swallowed hard past the lump that seemed to have formed in his throat and squared his shoulders in preparation for what was to come. He toed off his wet shoes before he walked forward slowly, making sure that he didn’t stumble over anything else as he approached the younger man. He had made up his mind and wasn’t going to back down now, even if the thought of turning around and marching to his room seemed like the more intelligent idea right at this moment.

He stopped a mere three feet away from his flatmate, then reached out and carefully settled his palm against his friend’s hard chest. They stood like that for a long time, eyes locked and not moving. John found himself focusing on the feel of the other man’s heart beating a steady rhythm against his palm before he slowly trailed his hand up. Fingertips slid over the soft material of the button-down, across his collarbone and along the graceful length of pale skin at his throat.

This man was brilliant in a way that very few could properly appreciate and he was utterly striking in a purely masculine way. John blinked slowly, body weaving slightly as he stared up at his friend. The man’s eyes were magnificent; bright blue iris, warm gold crowding into the pupil with a dark green limbus containing it all. Tri-coloured eyes, sectoral heterochromia, his mind supplied for him.

“Sherlock.” He breathed the name as he continued to stare into those fascinating eyes. John wanted to lean in, look closer and memorize exactly how they looked at this moment. “I-” John had begun but broke off when he realized that he still held the other man’s throat. He pulled back sheepishly, fingertips grazing over the perfectly smooth skin before letting his hand fall against his drenched clothing. “I am not gay.”

He looked away and took a deep breath, holding it for a long moment before letting the air rush out of his lungs. He shot the younger man a cautious look, trying to see if there was a reaction to his words. He was slightly disappointed when none showed on Sherlock’s face. He pushed on anyway. “But it seems that I might not be completely straight either.”

With a sigh, John looked away again and ran a hand through his damp hair. Sherlock wasn’t helping him with this at all. No expression, no movement, nothing to show what he was thinking or feeling. ‘Emotions do not know gender.’ The words flitted through his head again. That was true, what he was feeling for the other man wasn’t based on what anatomy he had, but who he was. Sherlock Holmes was his flatmate, his friend and perhaps even his lover.

He really should have tried to think of what he would say to the other man on his walk home instead of thinking of what he would like to do. John locked eyes once more, licked his suddenly dry lips and tried again. “That is to say-” He cut himself off once more with another shake of his head. He couldn’t seem to get what he wanted to say out, he didn’t even know how to say what it was. “Bugger it.” With that he gave up on words, he was more of a man of action anyway.

He closed the small space that separated them and reached up to tug Sherlock’s face down to meet his. It was chaste, a mere press of the lips, with the taller man refusing to cooperate by opening his mouth to deepen it. After a few seconds, John drew back in frustration, scowling openly at his friend. “Isn’t this what you wanted?” He gestured between the two of them, annoyance colouring his words.

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed slightly at either the tone or words, but it made him look even more striking. Then he took a deliberate step back. He stood straight and tall, the picture of perfection in his silk shirt and tailored slacks. “If I wanted a drunk in my bed I could have gone to any pub and found one.” His voice was cool and distant, nothing like it had been last night.

John stumbled as he backed up, the words like a slap to his face. “I’m not drunk!” He hissed through clenched teeth in affront. In an instant, his emotions had flipped from wanting to kiss the man to wanting to throttle him. Hand clenching tightly into fists, John glared at the arrogant form of his flatmate. Ok, so he had been drinking, but he wasn’t drunk anymore. A nice cold walk in the rain for a couple of hours was sure to sober anyone up.

Sherlock just shook his head looking disappointed and stepped around John, not even bothering to dignify John’s statement with a response. His movements were quick and graceful as he crossed the room to the door. The genius made a show of blatantly ignoring John as he began putting first one, then the other shoe on.

John just stared at him for a long moment, unable to believe that things had gone so wrong so quickly. He’d just spent all day and all evening reconciling himself to what had happened between them and now the bloody bastard was just going to brush him off? “No.” He muttered and began stomping towards the younger man.

Sherlock had just straightened and turned to face him when John bodily pinned him to the closed door. His brain stuttered for a moment as his body fell flush against Sherlock’s. He had a flash of the man naked and panting beneath him, eyes locked with his own as sweat glistened on his skin. Arousal tingled along his nerves and John inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of the younger man’s skin and cologne.

Momentarily lost in the visceral memory of the man, John didn’t resist as he felt Sherlock’s hands grip his hips and shift them so that it was John pressed into the wall beside the door instead. He leaned against the wall, using it as a support and once more looked up into his friend's eyes. He wanted to kiss the taller man, wanted to run his hands along his soft, firm skin. He wanted so much from this man.

Sherlock’s unusual eyes glittered brightly again, appearing greener in the dimmer light. His features however still held that odd blankness that John was unable to read. The detective slowly lowered his head, lips hovering beside John’s ear as he spoke softly. “We will talk when you’re sober.”

John was unable to suppress the shudder that rolled through his body as warm breath caressed his earlobe. He closed his eyes and let his head fall against the wall while he savoured the feel. It took another moment to process the words that had fallen so sweetly from the other man’s lips and he jerked his head up as the taller man took a deliberate step back. Sherlock turned away from him and reached for his coat.

John’s eyes narrowed at his flatmate. He was not about to let Sherlock leave, not until they had figured this out, whatever this was. John moved forward quickly, reaching out to snatch the man’s wrist in a tight grip. He pulled, spinning Sherlock back into the door and stepped in so that he couldn’t so easily escape again. “No, we will talk about this now.” He growled out.

He firmly told himself to not get distracted this time. He was, however, unable to resist leaning his body in, just to feel the heat and solid form of the younger man against him even as he glared into those strangely bright eyes. “You started this Sherlock, you don’t get to walk away whenever you feel like it. Not with me.”

Sherlock said nothing in response to those demanding words and John thought that he might actually be getting through to the other man. He relaxed his guard slightly and began to pull away, only to have the man’s fingers coil into his wet coat and forcefully shove him back.

Startled by the sudden movement John stumbled, slipping on the water he had dragged in before catching his balance after a few steps. When he refocused his attention on the detective, he found that the man had thrown his jacket on and had already begun winding his blue scarf about his throat.

Sherlock didn’t bother buttoning the jacket up but calmly strode the few steps to the door. As his fingers rested on the handle he glanced back at John. “You are in no shape to be doing anything. It would be best to continue this another time.” His tone was almost bored as he stated the words, as though he had already dismissed John entirely and was now thinking about something else.

But those eyes still blazed and John couldn’t help but feel as though he were being challenged. As the detective twisted the handle John lurched forward and slammed his palm into it, forcing the door closed once more. “I think it would be best if we continued this now.” He forced himself to sound calm as he said the words, even if he wanted to yell and rage instead.

With a huff of annoyance at his persistence, Sherlock relinquished his grip on the doorknob and turned away. After a few seconds of silence, he began moving again, his shoes clicking sharply against the wood floor. He strode purposefully deeper into the flat, heading towards his room without once looking back.

John blinked after the detectives quickly retreating form before locking the door and going after the confusing man. He had to run the last few steps as Sherlock tried to slam the door in his face. He caught the edge of it before it clicked shut. After taking a few deep, calming breaths, he opened it to find the man staring out his bedroom window.

Sherlock stood perfectly still, posed at the window as though he were a statue. His shoes had been kicked off to the side and he stood in his black socks, coat still hanging open and his blue scarf dangling loosely from his fingertips as he stared down below. Once more John was struck by how utterly magnificent the younger man was. Beautiful and brilliant. “Sherlock.” Involuntarily the man’s name slipped past his lips.

The taller man spun at the sound of his name, the supple material of his expensive jacket flaring out dramatically and the detective stalked towards him. His eyes were bright and menacing as they zeroed in on him as he scowled darkly. “What do you want, John?” The question was harshly spoken as he narrowed the distance between them.

Even in that angry tone, his name on the other man’s perfect lips was enough to send a shock of arousal through his being and he had to swallow hard past the lump that seemed to have formed in his throat. He wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted, but he was sure about what he didn’t want. He didn’t want the other man to keep trying to walk away from him. He didn’t want things to stay unsaid between them and he didn’t want things to go back to how they had been before.

He still hadn’t figured out how to formulate a proper response to the harshly demanded question when Sherlock flung his scarf to the ground and stalked the last few feet forward. The detective crowded him, forcing John to retreat until his back hit the wall. “What do you want?” His voice was lower, deeper, the tone sending delicious tingles dancing along his skin.

You. This. Us. Each word flitted through his mind as he tried to think past the delicious press of the detective’s solid body against him. ‘You’ implied a level of dedication that John was afraid that the other man couldn’t give. ‘Us’ was similar, a commitment that he didn’t know if Sherlock was even able to offer. “This.” The word slipped unbidden past his lips. This. The here and now with no real thoughts of the future, only of what they could attain in the moments they had.

Sherlock pulled away at that single word, slowly shaking his head. He took a step back and carefully shrugged out of his jacket before he turned to hang it on the back of the door. He glanced over his shoulder to look back at John. “This.” He scoffed. “You can’t even say what ‘this’ is.” He punctuated his words with a low, mocking laugh and another shake of his head.

John was frustrated by how things were going between them. Their entire conversation tonight had begun to go wrong from the first time he opened his mouth. He didn’t know how to get it through the bloody man’s head that he wanted to try this, whatever this was, with him. Temper beginning to boil to the surface he snatched the detective’s wrist when the man tried to shoulder past him to get to the door.

Between one blink and the next John found himself pressed back into the wall with Sherlock looming darkly over him. He didn’t speak or move immediately. He didn’t do anything other than stare silently down at John, his expression an icy mask that showed absolutely nothing. John’s anger broke free and he didn’t think, just reacted.

He grabbed the taller man with his free hand, twisted and pulled, shifting to harshly slam Sherlock into the wall he had just been pinned against. He wanted to shake the bloody genius, or punch him, or kiss him. “I want you. I want this. I want us.” He all but growled up at the detective. Wasn’t that enough?

The younger man’s hard expression didn’t change and he didn’t respond to the words but instead gripped John’s hips in preparation to once more shoving him away.

John had enough. He absolutely refused to let Sherlock continue to try to push him away. This needed to be dealt with now. Angrily, John caught the genius’s wrists in a tight, nearly bruising grip and pried them off his hips before he pushed them forcefully against the wall.

He held the other man securely, using his body to cage Sherlock in and tried to broadcast that he was not going to move until they talked about this. He was surprised to feel Sherlock slowly relax against him and caught the slightest upturn of the genius’s perfect lips. It was with a slow dawning of realization that he became aware of the fact that the bloody bastard had just manipulated that damned confession out of him. Had that been all he was waiting for? John to acknowledge exactly what it was that he wanted from the other man?

John slowly leaned in, pressing his still damp body along the length of Sherlock’s narrower frame, savouring the feel of the man’s hard muscles against his own. He tilted his head up and locked eyes with the maddeningly frustrating detective before he closed the small distance between their mouths. This time Sherlock didn’t resist. 

It started out softly, a gentle pressure as they began a slow exploration of one another's mouths, each memorizing the taste and feel of the other. John both savoured and basked in this careful submission. This was, after all, the first time that the genius had given in at all since he had come home. His tongue darted out to trace along the detective’s lower lip, tasting the lingering flavour of tea on the man. 

When he felt Sherlock’s hands twitch and begin to rise John just tightened his grip and slowly drug them up the wall until he had them pinned above the man’s head. He was not about to let Sherlock get off easily for the way he had tormented John earlier.

When Sherlock experimentally tugged at the unyielding restraints that were the doctor’s hands around his wrists, John was forced to tighten his grip even more. The younger man breathed out a low, almost purring sound in the back of his throat in response, his eyes glittering brightly as they focused once more on the doctor. John began to rock their hips together, grinding his erection against the detectives own. He savoured the soft hiss of pleasure his friend made, enjoying the bunching of muscles and tugging arms as Sherlock began to strain against him.

He rocked harder against the genius and deepened the kiss, marvelling in how compliant the detective had become in the span of a few minutes. Slowly he trailed his hands down the captured wrist and forearms, sliding his fingers over well-defined biceps and finally to the man’s ribs. He traced lines across and down the genius’s sides before he began to pull at the tucked in material of his shirt, wanting to feel more of the man’s skin under his wandering touch.

Finally, he managed to pull the silk free from the confines of Sherlock’s tight trousers. John’s fingers trailed along the line of his waist, just above the tailored slacks. His hands slowly moved up, splaying across the man’s amazingly smooth and toned abdominal muscles. His searching hands were thwarted by the material of the dress shirt, limiting how high his hands could reach. He growled under his breath at the restricting article of clothing and extracted his hands.

Refusing to break their kiss or slow his rocking hips he began unbuttoning the offending shirt from the bottom up. John was quick in his motions, wanting it out of the way so that he could touch more of the younger man. When the last button popped free, he parted the silk and drew s slow step away to admire Sherlock’s panting form. It was only then that he noticed the detective’s hands still stretched out above his head, remaining in the same place that John had trapped them in before.

John held himself perfectly still as he tried to understand why Sherlock hadn’t moved. When his mind jumped to one reason lightning quick he felt his eyes widen in response. Did Sherlock get off on being dominated? The very idea of that sent a white-hot shock of arousal thundering through his being and he groaned low in the back of his throat. He reached out and grabbed the man by the open front of the silk shirt and drug him away from the wall.

Sherlock needed no more encouragement than that. As his back left the wall his hands dropped to settle against John’s hips. Nails bit sharply into the rain damped fabric of his trousers and the detective rolled their hips together in a sensual motion. As much as John wanted to just shove him against the wall again and continue what they were doing, he had a better idea. He released his grip on one side of the shirt and slid his hand into the soft mass of dark curls. He brought the younger man’s mouth down to him and began to back up, the genius matching him step for step.

When the back of his knees finally brushed against the edge of the bed he slowly manoeuvred them around. John released his white-knuckled grip on the now damp dress shirt and coiled his arm tightly around the other man’s waist, pulling that delicious body flush against his own once more. All the while he did not break their heated kiss. Their mouths duelled and bit, tongues darting out to tease and taunt the other man as they both fought to take control of the kiss.

John finally broke the demanding kiss with a gasp and pushed the man down to the edge of the bed. Sherlock sprawled out, his arms reaching behind him to keep himself propped up as John came to stand between his invitingly opened legs. The detective’s lips were swollen and red, chest heaving as he breathed in quick, rapid bursts. Those magnificent eyes blazed green as the genius gazed up at him.

“Scoot up.” He ordered the other man, his voice deep and husky as he drank in the sight.

Sherlock’s head tilted ever so slightly as he continued to stare up at John for another moment before, wordlessly he began shifting up the bed. He never broke eye contact and when he had reached the middle of the bed he sprawled out. He moved his limbs to pose himself in the same position that he’d been in when pressed against the wall.

Sherlock’s long legs closed, one knee raising just the slightest amount, though that did nothing to hide the obvious bulge in his slacks. He arched his spine, allowing the silk of his shirt to fall open around him and reveal the smooth expanse of his torso. What drew John's, was that once more his arms had stretched out above his head, fingertips not quite touching one another even as his knuckles grazed against the headboard.

That had to be the most arousing thing that John had ever seen. Sherlock Holmes spread out of the bed before him like a Sunday Buffet. A full body shudder coursed through him as arousal spiked across every nerve ending. Not wanting to wait anymore he jerked out of his still damp coat, letting it drop carelessly to the ground with a sodden thump. His jumper was a little more difficult, the water saturated material clinging to him even as he extracted himself from the warm, wet wool, taking his undershirt along with it.

His trousers were quick to follow and he peeled them away from his damp skin along with his pants and socks, letting them fall where he stood. John straightened, standing fully nude and erect before Sherlock’s bright, piercing gaze. He could feel the heat creeping up his neck and cheeks under the detective’s unwavering stare, a part of him wondering how the other man saw him. Did he see the old, worn out soldier who had been chewed up and spit out by war and violence? Or did he see John’s determination and iron-clad will?

He mentally shook his head at the thought as the cool air rose goosebumps along his skin. He knew a way that he could warm up. John knelt at the edge of the bed and began crawling up the younger man. He dipped his head to place slow, lingering kisses across the exposed stomach and abdomen as he moved. He leisurely worked his mouth over the man’s torso while pulling the sides of the open shirt up, forcing Sherlock to sit up the slightest amount so that he could pull the material out from beneath his body.

John settled himself on the younger man’s hips and drew the silk shirt along his still stretched arms to bunch at Sherlock’s wrists and held it there for a moment. His eyes narrowed at the makeshift binding it made while he debated on using that to secure the genius’s hands. With a slow shake of his head, he finished tugging the cloth off. It would be far too easy for the man to get out of John decided and tossed the shirt over the side of the bed.

As the purple silk left his fingers he caught sight of the wardrobe out of the corner of his eye and another thought drifted into his mind. The last time he had searched the room for drugs he remembered seeing several ties hanging in there. He had never seen the genius wear one and at the time had wondered about them. He knew that they would make a decent binding.

He grinned slightly at the thought of using them on the man, but in the end just shook his head once more. Maybe next time, right now he had no wish to leave this bed for any reason, not even for the chance to tie the detective’s hands to the headboard. He turned his attention back to the man he was straddling and began a slow rocking of his hips, feeling the thrill of the detective’s straining erection beneath him.

John slowly leaned in, his lips hovering inches away from Sherlock’s own slightly parted ones. “You are to keep your hands in that position until I say otherwise.” His command came out husky and he had to wonder if Sherlock would bother complying. “Is that understood?”

The younger man’s eyes flashed brightly and his hips twitched at the order, temporarily losing the rhythm their bodies had created together. He licked his lips, his breathing heavy before he opened his mouth. “Yes.” He agreed, the single word coming out soft, almost a whisper.

John’s own hips jerked at the man’s compliance, desire coiling inside. He closed the last few inches between them and kissed the man long and deep, their lips parting to duel. He nipped at the detective’s bottom lip, drawing it into his mouth to suck gently before breaking away to kiss a trail along the man’s smooth jaw. His hands traced along the muscle formations at the younger man’s waist and sides, slowly drawing up until they found small, hard nipples.

Teasingly his fingers gently circled them a few times before he began to roll and pinch the small buds. All the while his mouth trailed down the man’s arched neck, placing kisses and nips along the exposed skin. Teeth were hard then soft, John carefully listening and feeling how the detective responded both verbally and non to the various sensations he was causing.

He continued his teasing ministrations across his collarbone, tasting the pale skin, before trailing down the other man’s leanly muscled chest to replace one teasing hand with his mouth. He lapped at the nipple before catching it between his teeth and biting down gently. When Sherlock cried out softly he repeated the action, only this time with more force. Sherlock arched into him in addition to his cry, his hips thrusting hard against John before settling once more into their slow rocking.

John felt that he was slowly beginning to understand the man beneath him. While the detective did enjoy his soft and gentle ministrations, it seemed that Sherlock very much preferred hard and aggressive. He would have to test this idea a bit more before he could be certain, but from how the other man had reacted to his hands and teeth he was sure that he was right.

John’s other hand, which had only been teasing the other nipple now pinched with more force than he had ever dared with anyone before. When the detective elicited a similar vocal response, he found that he was not truly surprised. He was, however, satisfied that he had managed to figure out at least a bit of what he liked and that John was able to give that to him.

With a final lick, John abandoned the reddened nipple. He trailed his mouth lower, teeth grazing and biting the skin between the occasional kiss. This caused the detective to squirm and gasp beneath him, small shudders racking his body. His fingers found the barrier of Sherlock’s slacks and quickly began working the button and fly before starting to force the material down. With every inch of skin he exposed, he would pause to give it attention, even as he purposely avoided the man’s straining erection. Fingers caressed and teeth nipped as he drew down the man’s tailored slacks.

Sherlock wore nothing underneath. He didn’t know why but he found that arousing as hell. Had the man anticipated that this was where things would lead? Of course, he had, the genius nearly always seemed to know just how John would react even before John himself did. He finally managed to tug the slacks free, taking the black socks with them. This left the beautiful man sprawled out, fully nude on the bed. His erection stood at full attention as his hands clenched tightly above his head in self-imposed restraint. 

John's hand’s slid along the length of the man’s long, pale legs, parting them as he began to crawl his way back up. He lowered his head once more and ran his tongue along the underside of the man’s knee, feeling the slight twitch in reaction to the sensation. He turned his head slightly and used his hands to further widen the detective’s legs before beginning to kiss his way up first one thigh then the other. When they had both received affection from his fingers as well as his mouth he continued to move higher.

John knew that Sherlock was enjoying his attentions for a variety of reasons. His rapid indrawn breaths, the low sounds in the back of his throat, his twitching hips and the weeping cock that John had so far been ignoring were only a few of those reasons. He tested and teased, trying to gauge how gentle was too gentle and how hard was too hard.

It was rather difficult to concentrate on figuring out exactly what Sherlock did and did not like when all he wanted to do was plunge himself inside the man as far as he could go. But he restrained himself, wanting to hear Sherlock's cries of pleasure, wanting him to enjoy this as much as John was. He did not want the genius to regret any of this in the morning.

His lightly stubbled cheek grazed against the man’s straining erection, forcing an unintelligible sound from the man’s throat. John turned his head just enough to give it a quick kiss along the side before he began to crawl once more up the man’s body. His mouth found new places to kiss and bite as he moved, rubbing along Sherlock’s deliciously smooth skin until they once again faced to face.

Once more he settled himself firmly on the man, eyes locking with Sherlock’s brilliant tri-coloured eyes and began to rock his hips slowly. He trailed his palms along the exposed underside of the detective’s strong arms and wrapped his fingers around the wrists that had not moved since he had commanded it.

When he tightened his fingers around the wrists Sherlock arched against him, eyes bright and hazy as he stared up at John. The detective blinked several times, his throat constricting as he swallowed hard. “John.” The name was hoarse on his lips and he strained against the older man’s body, trying to increase their pace.

Leaning down, John placed a gentle kiss on the corner of the younger man’s mouth before pulling away slightly. All the while, he maintained a slow, steady rocking motion, refusing to allow the other man to move things along faster than he wanted. “Sherlock. What do you want? Tell me and I will give it to you.” The words weren’t flowery or a dramatic declaration, they were simply the truth. Anything that the other man asked him John would do.

Sherlock’s odd eyes seemed to blaze as they stared unblinkingly up at him, lust written in every line and angle of his face. “Fuck me.” The words were whispered on a sigh and he arched up against John once more, rubbing the length of himself across the doctor, enticing him to take everything.

Those two little words combined with the man’s expression sent a flood of desire through his veins. Oh yes, he would definitely be fucking this man, but not just yet. Instead of finding out where the man had stashed the lube and sinking into the tight heat of the other genius’s body he carefully released the genius’s captured wrists. “Touch me.” His words were a blend between a command and a plea as he continued to stare down and the beautiful man.

Immediately Sherlock drew his hands down from above his head, one arm instantly reaching out to coil tightly around John’s waist and pull him close, the other sliding into his hair. The hand gripped the back of his skull and forced their mouths together, their kiss shifting from gentle to aggressive between one breath and the next. In seconds he became even more demanding, his body arching up, their skin slick with sweat sliding together, as he tried to devour John.

John groaned at the delicious assault, his body burning with need and desire. Unable to help himself, he increased their rhythm, grinding their bodies together with a greater urgency than before. His hands ran down the man’s sides, sliding over each rib and caressing the sinfully smooth skin beneath his touch.

He broke the kiss on a gasp and ran his tongue along the underside of the man’s jaw, nipping and sucking tenderly at the carotid artery before biting down hard. Sherlock cried out, his body jerking against John as his nails bit deeply into the doctor’s scalp and scored a red-hot trail of ecstasy down his back. He panted heavily into the crook of the younger man’s neck, shuddering even as he traced his tongue over the angry teeth marks.

Sherlock’s hand slid away from his neck and down his back before he tightened his grip and shifted. In a sudden motion, the man had rolled them over, reversing their positions before John could even think to protest. He slid his arm's out and shifted to settle himself between John’s legs, sliding their erections against one another.

He leaned down, dark hair brushing across the doctor’s cheek and nipped hard at his shoulder, hands drawing sharp trails of heat down his arms to link his fingers in John’s. In a reversal of roles, he forced John’s hands along the bed until they were beside his head before he leaned down, the green of his eyes nearly drowning out the blue and grey. “Or should I fuck you instead?” He breathed the words across John’s parted lips, smiling down at him wickedly.

John had two very immediate and very different reactions to that question. The first being an adamant no, his body tensing in automatic rejection to the thought. The second was an absolute yes. The idea of Sherlock surrounding him, being inside of him and driving him into ecstasy one thrust at a time made his cock jump in anticipation and a low groan to escape his lips.

While he wanted that he was also wary. He hadn’t really considered this aspect when he had decided on what to do about their situation. Have sex with Sherlock, well that was a hell yes, but he hadn’t thought to mentally turn the tables. Sherlock have sex with him? The idea left him feeling vulnerable and exposed. But hadn’t that been exactly what Sherlock had done last night? Made himself vulnerable to John?

He knew that he would enjoy it, the prostate was fairly easy to stimulate once it was found and Sherlock was an exceptionally talented man. But could he just relinquish all control to the genius? John looked up into those oddly mesmerizing eyes, seeing them filled with so many emotions that John hadn’t known the detective possessed and thought that maybe, with his man, he just might be able to.

Having made up his mind he steeled himself for the word he was about to say. “Yes,” John whispered before wrapping his legs around Sherlock’s hips, the action reaffirming his acquiescence.

Sherlock growled low in the back of his throat before leaning down to capture the doctor’s lips in a crushing demand. As he controlled the kiss he pulled the trapped hands up above his head in a parody of John’s own earlier actions before transferring both wrists to one grip. His now free hand scored a blazing trail across the sensitive underside of his arm as it travelled down.

Those short, exquisite nails scored lines of pleasure across his skin and down his side, wrenching a groan from John’s throat. Sherlock increased their rhythm only the smallest amount, hand gripping his hip as their mouths continued to battle.

John tore his lips away as he arched and cried out, his body straining against the younger man. His legs tightened possessively around Sherlock, forcing their erections together and creating a faster pace. He needed more.

Sherlock chuckled and lowered his head again, trailing nips and bites down the side of his neck. His hand tightened on the doctor’s restrained wrists when the John tried to pull them free even as he drew his other hand between them. Long, warm fingers wrapped around them both and began to stroke them together. He set the pace deliciously and tortuously slow as he continued to lave attention with his mouth.

John was helpless to do anything as he writhed under the man’s ministrations. Sherlock was in complete control of everything. The understanding brought another wash of heat burning through his being, mingling with the fire already building inside him. He wanted more, needed more.

He twisted and arched against Sherlock, muscles straining as he panted in the pleasurable torture being inflicted upon him, he couldn’t take any more. He finally broke. “Please,” The word escaped his lips on a cry as the detective bit his collarbone. His plea was rewarded by the genius’ tongue soothing the bite and increasing the speed of the hand stroking them both together.

John groaned as he moved against the other man, unable to keep himself still. He needed more than the friction that they were creating. “Sherlock.” He begged the other man with his name alone.

Sherlock knew exactly what he was begging for. He released his unyielding grip on John’s straining wrists before he began to bite and suckle his way lower. Sharp teeth accented the detectives soft and talented fingers sliding across his chest. Still, he trailed down, forcing John to unwind his legs until his teeth were grazing sharply against John’s thigh.

He nuzzled John’s weeping erection, his tongue tracing a deliberately slow line up the length of it before pausing, his mouth hovering at the tip. Sherlock’s gaze travelled up the length of John’s panting form, bright eyes taking in everything that he was doing to the doctor.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

The question was breathed over John’s cock and the older man shuddered, a moan wrenched from his throat. “Yes,” All he wanted to do was force the man’s head down, to swallow him.

He was rewarded by Sherlock lowering his mouth, lips parting and wrapping them around the head of his cock. John groaned, his hand’s fisting tightly into the bed sheets as he fought to not force the other man’s head on him as he so desperately wanted to do.

Sherlock’s teeth grazed softly down the shaft, his mouth lowering until he had taken all of John in. John’s eyes widened in shock and he forced himself to be completely still as he felt the automatic constricting at the back of the other man’s throat, amazed that the detective had been able to deep throat him. But this was Sherlock, he couldn’t do anything by half measures.

John was panting, every muscle straining as he held himself in check. Sherlock pulled back, sucking as his tongue danced a deliciously amazing pattern along his shaft and coiling around his head. All he wanted to do was thrust as hard as he could into that breathtakingly talented mouth. Then Sherlock began to move again. starbursts exploded behind his eyes and John’s hips began to move of their own accord, trying to go deeper and faster.

Sherlock’s hands gripped his hips and pinned him back to the mattress before he once more took control of their pace. He forced them to go slow even as his mouth drove John higher and higher with every passing second. His fingers began to trace small intricate patterns into John’s trembling skin, the nails gentle and caressing one second then biting the next.

Half-formed words died on his lips before they could even be uttered. He twisted and writhed under Sherlock’s talented hands and mouth, sure that he would go insane from the pleasure if the other man didn’t do something soon.

Sherlock began to knead John’s ass. Warm, wet fingers circling closer and closer to his entrance with every thundering beat of his heart. At this exact moment, John didn’t care, he wanted everything that the other man would give him. John cried out, his hips bucking when he felt a single finger trace along the rim of his entrance, circling in slow teasing strokes.

Sherlock sucked him hard and deep as his finger breached through the outer ring of muscle. John cried out again, his hips thrusting into that delicious heat. Slowly the single digit worked its way past the second ring of muscles. He found himself trying to shift to get more comfortable, his inner muscles clenching around the foreign feel of Sherlock’s finger, but all thought was lost once more when the man’s mouth slid down the length of his cock and swallowed him to the hilt.

The genius was timing every inward stroke with his mouth sliding down. The uncomfortable feeling of the finger began to dissipate. Instead, it began to add to the pleasure he was experiencing. It was too much and John didn’t think he could take anymore. He arched when he felt a second finger enter him, the stretch a low burn that he barely noticed over the waves of pleasure crashing over him.

“Sherlock,” He moaned the name as he rocked to the rhythm the younger man had created, unable to help himself as he arched into the sinfully delicious suction of the detective’s mouth. His eyes flew wide and the air left his lungs in a rush when Sherlock’s long fingers began to graze repeatedly over his prostate. He found himself gasping harshly and trying to grind himself onto those teasing fingers, the universe bursting behind his eyelids.

When Sherlock chuckled around him the vibrations rose him higher. He cried out, his hips warring with itself as he struggled between thrusting up into that delicious heat and down into that sharp pleasure.

God, no wonder people enjoyed doing this. The thought flashed in his head for a moment before he groaned again, Sherlock was trying to add a third finger. The low burn went up a notch, but he was distracted from that by the teeth grazing across his cock and the hand that had found his balls.

Everything centred in that small area, mouth and hands driving him insane as Sherlock sucked, and pumped and rolled. “Please,” John didn’t care that he was begging. “I can’t-” he arched and strained, a sharp cry escaping as the third finger slid all the way in.

“You can.” That was all Sherlock said when he pulled his mouth away, those perfect lips glistening and red before he lowered his head once more. This time he ignored John’s cock, lips brushing against his balls instead. He slowly rolled one into his mouth, circling the sensitive skin with his tongue, before sucking. One, then the other. He lapped at them, rolling them and licking, distracting John and fanning the raging fire he had burning inside.

Just when John knew he couldn’t take any more Sherlock moved, his fingers slowly sliding out and mouth drawing away. John shivered, feeling suddenly empty and cold. Sherlock crawled back up John’s shaking form until they were once more face to face. “It will be easier for you if you are on your hands and knees, but the position is your choice.” His voice was deep and husky, sweat glistening on his form as he held himself perfectly still, waiting for John to respond.

John locked eyes with Sherlock, reading the truth in the man’s face. He slowly nodded his head. When Sherlock shifted off him John turned over, his arms trembling slightly as he lifted himself to his hands and knees. He felt awkward in this position, exposed. He turned his head to see Sherlock sitting there a small bottle in one hand, the other slowly pumping himself, eyes almost glowing in the light. John shivered, his own erection pulsing at the sight.

Sherlock let out a low, shuddering breath and moved in behind John’s spread legs. He spread himself across John’s back, head dipping to place soft trailing kisses along his spine and shoulders. He coiled himself around John’s still shaking form, one hand splaying across his chest, the other sliding down to grasp him in a firm grip.

John gasped, the man’s wet fingers gliding over his cock in a deliberately slow pace and he began to lightly thrust against John’s ass. The feel and friction sent shudders racking his body and he lowered his arms until he was braced on his elbows, head bowing as he tried to breathe through the waves of pleasure.

The hand that splayed across his chest scored a trail across his abdomen, which caused him to cry out and jerk his hips back into the man’s straining erection. That hand continued to move, tracing patterns over his skin and across his hip.

He felt Sherlock shift away slightly, the hand that had been tracing along his hip disappearing as well. He heard a ripping sound and a moment later he could feel something warm, wet and hard settling against his entrance. Instinctively he tensed, his body going rigid at the feel of the other man’s cock so close to penetrating him. His breath was coming out in harsh gasps and he couldn’t stop his shaking.

“Relax, John.” His voice was soothing as he spoke the words, his other hand tightening his grip and twisting around John in such a way that it left starbursts behind his eyelids. John tried, forcing his tight muscled to release one at a time. All the while the detective’s erection brushed and teased at his entrance. It was distracting, it felt good and it was terrifying all at once.

Sherlock timed it properly, as he squeezed and slid his hand along John he slowly began to breach. It burned and he wanted to tense up all over again, but resolutely held himself perfectly still, biting hard on the inside of his cheek.

He was not going to back out of this now, even as Sherlock felt too big and too long for him to take. He knew that wasn’t the case, there wasn’t much of a size difference between them, but why did it have to hurt so much?

“Breathe, John.” The words were whispered against the back of his neck and he suddenly realized that the man had stopped moving. He was wrapped once more around John, buried inside, his other hand still pumping his cock as he took slow shuddering breaths.

John also noticed that the advice was accurate and drew in a long breath himself, not having realized that he had stopped breathing. He tried to get used to this feeling of being overly full. Was this how Sherlock had felt? He didn’t think so, the other man had appeared to be enjoying this last night a lot more than John was. He shifted slightly trying to ease some of the tense strain and Sherlock cursed, his hips jerking in automatic response.

John gasped, the action both painful and somehow not and he froze again, his inner muscles clenching tightly at the intrusion. He felt Sherlock drop his head to his spine, his breath faster now than a moment ago, cooling the sweat that was beginning to form on the doctor's skin. “John, I need you to relax,” His words were tightly controlled, with just a hint of strain.

He continued to slowly pump John, trying to distract him from the uncomfortable feeling of Sherlock being inside him. It both was and wasn’t working. It helped, but it made John want to move, want to thrust into that tightly gripping hand. Instead, he tried to force his body to relax again, one by one his muscles releasing and he felt Sherlock sigh above him.

This wasn’t going very well, he thought uncomfortably. Maybe he had done something wrong? Why hadn’t Sherlock reacted this way last night? He had seemed to really enjoy this, so what was John doing that was so different? Frustrated, he shifted once more and gasped as Sherlock thrust forward again. It didn’t hurt nearly as much this time, but it still burned.

Sherlock swore again. “Damn it, John, you are not making this easy.” He growled lowly.

John’s own temper rose to the surface, “I’m not making this easy?” His head turned to glare over his shoulder and he tried to lever himself back to his hands. That may have been a mistake, as he ended up forcing himself further onto Sherlock. John gasped, the genius now buried fully inside. He trembled, muscles straining and they both froze, the only movement was Sherlock’s hand around him, somehow still maintaining that distracting rhythm.

After a long moment, Sherlock began to retreat, John’s body shuddering as he lost that over-full feeling. It made him feel empty, one slow inch at a time and he couldn’t help the low sound he made at the back of his throat. Just when John thought that the other man was going to pull away completely and call it quits, he reversed his direction.

Sherlock dropped his head and began coating his back in soft, distracting kisses, and gentle nips. John gasped as the man began to fill him again, his muscles straining as he forced himself to stay perfectly still and not tense up again. He was startled to realize that surprisingly, it didn’t feel that bad. He slowly relaxed again, beginning to if not enjoy, at the very least accept this.

Sherlock continued his slow motions and John became more accustomed to it. He couldn’t say that he particularly enjoyed this, but it wasn’t so bad now. Then the man hit his prostate. Trembling waves of pleasure washed over John in that one simple motion and he cried out, pushing back into the man.

Sherlock’s arm coiled around him, clutching him tightly while his other hand increased their pace. He began to thrust into John more easily, angling himself to hit the prostate with every thrust.

John cried out again dropping once more to his elbows as he buried his face into the sheets. He couldn’t think. Pleasure and pain coiled inside John as Sherlock thrust deeper and harder. “Sherlock!” He cried out as Sherlock clung to his hip, nails biting harshly into him.

They moved together, Sherlock thrusting against him and John rocking himself back, their cries mingling as they panted and groaned. He could feel Sherlock’s lips move against his skin, even as no words came out.

He felt Sherlock’s thrusts become more erratic, pushing harder and deeper with every thrust, he bit down harshly on John's neck and did something with the hand wrapped around his cock and suddenly everything inside John exploded. “Sherlock!” He cried out sharply, his spine arching as he drowned in the crashing waves. His vision went black and he went boneless, struggling to take in air.

Distantly he felt arms tighten around him holding him in place, straining against him for a long moment. After a time, those arms allowed him to collapse to the bed, staying firmly wrapped around John as the doctor drifted, floating slowly down from the high. Slowly reality drew him back and he found himself being pinned by the taller man.

John drew a deep shuddering breath which ended in a moan when he felt Sherlock slowly pull out, leaving him feeling cold and empty inside. He rolled onto his side to face the younger man, his body still shuddering on occasion with small aftershocks.

That had been bloody amazing, he thought with a sigh. Well, mostly amazing. Their initial argument hadn't been much fun and it had been rather painful when Sherlock had first entered him, that hadn't been very enjoyable. Afterwards, the thought trailed off as John twitched again, his inner muscles clenching at the remembered feel of the genius filling him.

Still riding the aftershocks of his orgasm, he watched as Sherlock rolled over onto his back and carefully pulled the condom off his still half hard erection. With deft motions, he knotted the end and tossed it into the rubbish bin beside the bed before closing his eyes. With another shift he pulled a small bottle of clear liquid out from under himself and dropped it on the side table, not seeming to notice when it fell to the floor with a thump.

John drew in a slow, deep breath, knowing he needed to speak but not sure how to go about it. His eyes trailed down the length of the man's torso before sliding up to take in his perfect facial features. John licked his dry lips and finally spoke. 

“You were right you know. Emotion's do not no gender. What I feel for you has nothing-” He broke off and moved into a sitting position, wincing slightly at the dull throbbing he felt. Instead of looking down at Sherlock's amazingly sculpted form, his gaze travelled to the window and he tried again.

“What we have is beyond being male or female.” Still, John heard nothing from the man laying so still beside him so he pushed on. “You're my best friend,” He sighed and ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair with a wince. “Sherlock, whatever you want I will give to you.”

He finally looked back down at the still form of the detective. Sherlock's eyes were heavy-lidded, his gaze unwavering as he stared up at John, silent as he listened to the doctor try to explain what he was feeling. “Can you just say something?” John almost begged at the continued silence in the room before quickly adding, “Something that isn't overly sarcastic and won't piss me off?” He figured he needed to clarify that as Sherlock's lips twitched.

Sherlock opened his mouth and paused before speaking lowly. “It took you long enough to figure this out, now shut up.” With that simple statement his arms wrapped around John and pulled him back down to the bed.

John went willingly. He basked in the feel of Sherlock's warm skin sliding across him as the man draped himself over John, head finally settling over his heart with a soft sigh. When John opened his mouth to say something more he was interrupted by Sherlock's low, “Shut up, John.” 

John found himself laughing and wrapped his arms around the lithe man knowing that nothing would ever be the same. But with Sherlock when was that not the case?

~Fin~


End file.
